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It began during that morning that seemed entirely routine. I was traveling with my husband and son to welcome a furry companion. The world appeared steady – then reality shattered.

Checking my device, I noticed news concerning the frontier. I called my mum, anticipating her reassuring tone telling me everything was fine. Silence. My parent didn't respond either. Then, my brother answered – his speech immediately revealed the awful reality prior to he said anything.

The Unfolding Nightmare

I've observed countless individuals on television whose worlds were torn apart. Their gaze showing they couldn't comprehend their loss. Suddenly it was us. The floodwaters of violence were rising, amid the destruction remained chaotic.

My child glanced toward me across the seat. I relocated to make calls alone. Once we reached the station, I encountered the brutal execution of my childhood caregiver – a senior citizen – shown in real-time by the militants who seized her residence.

I thought to myself: "None of our family will survive."

Eventually, I viewed videos revealing blazes consuming our residence. Despite this, later on, I denied the building was gone – not until my family provided visual confirmation.

The Fallout

Upon arriving at the station, I contacted the puppy provider. "Hostilities has begun," I told them. "My mother and father may not survive. Our kibbutz was captured by militants."

The ride back consisted of searching for loved ones while also shielding my child from the terrible visuals that were emerging everywhere.

The footage from that day were beyond any possible expectation. A child from our community seized by multiple terrorists. My former educator driven toward the territory in a vehicle.

Individuals circulated social media clips that seemed impossible. My mother's elderly companion also taken to Gaza. A woman I knew and her little boys – boys I knew well – captured by attackers, the terror visible on her face stunning.

The Painful Period

It appeared to take forever for assistance to reach the area. Then commenced the terrible uncertainty for updates. In the evening, one photograph emerged of survivors. My parents were missing.

During the following period, as community members helped forensic teams locate the missing, we scoured the internet for traces of family members. We encountered brutality and violence. There was no footage of my father – no clue regarding his experience.

The Emerging Picture

Gradually, the reality grew more distinct. My aged family – along with 74 others – became captives from our kibbutz. My parent was in his eighties, my mother 85. In the chaos, a quarter of our community members were killed or captured.

After more than two weeks, my mother was released from confinement. Prior to leaving, she looked back and grasped the hand of the guard. "Shalom," she said. That gesture – a basic human interaction within unimaginable horror – was shared everywhere.

Five hundred and two days afterward, Dad's body were recovered. He died only kilometers from where we lived.

The Ongoing Pain

These tragedies and their documentation still terrorize me. All subsequent developments – our desperate campaign to free prisoners, Dad's terrible fate, the persistent violence, the devastation in Gaza – has intensified the primary pain.

My family remained advocates for peace. Mom continues, like many relatives. We know that hostility and vengeance don't offer any comfort from this tragedy.

I compose these words through tears. As time passes, talking about what happened intensifies in challenge, rather than simpler. The children of my friends are still captive with the burden of the aftermath is overwhelming.

The Individual Battle

To myself, I describe focusing on the trauma "swimming in the trauma". We're used to discussing events to fight for freedom, though grieving seems unaffordable we lack – and two years later, our efforts persists.

No part of this narrative is intended as support for conflict. I've always been against this conflict since it started. The people of Gaza have suffered terribly.

I am horrified by political choices, while maintaining that the organization are not innocent activists. Since I witnessed their atrocities that day. They abandoned the population – ensuring tragedy on both sides because of their violent beliefs.

The Community Split

Sharing my story among individuals justifying the attackers' actions appears as failing the deceased. My local circle confronts unprecedented antisemitism, and our people back home has struggled against its government consistently facing repeated disappointment again and again.

From the border, the ruin of the territory is visible and painful. It horrifies me. Simultaneously, the complete justification that numerous people appear to offer to the organizations causes hopelessness.